


Balance

by katertotter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katertotter/pseuds/katertotter





	Balance

It was a Tuesday when Ginny said it. A Tuesday in April, in fact, and even though it's August now, Luna plays it over and over again so she doesn't forget. Never forget that

"You know, I'm surprised we've lasted this long. It never really meant that much at first".

Luna can almost feel the syllables in her ears still.

Luna hates and Luna breaks, and lately she's been sweeping out the rooms of chocolates and paper flowers and poems she kept in her head, as she moves heavier things into their places. Lead and stone and cool pools of murky water here and there.

She hates in colours now. Vicious reds and oranges run slowly across Ginny's face as she talks. Luna may listen, but she doesn't even pretend to hear anymore. She's closed it off. It doesn't hurt as much that way, she's found. All is noiseless here, faces smeared with hot colour, and when she touches Ginny now, she only feels her own hands sliding. There's really nothing beneath them, she thinks. She's slipping and she knows it.

Ginny will notice soon.

But Ginny never does. No, she's too busy piling sugar cubes between her thin, small hands, and her mouth is still somehow moving, as if none of it is really real inside the outside. Luna has to wonder if Ginny would notice the fork accidentally finding its way into her throat. It would stop the ceaseless noise once and for all, at least.

The fork is pressed instead against the tablecloth, pulling sharp, ski slopes across the fabric, and her knee won't stay still at all. The waitress looks at her oddly, when she asks if there's anything else she would like and Luna replies, "A way out?"

There's a man inside her head, pulling stones across the desert and piling piling building a pyramid fit for a pharaoh. Its walls are so thick and cool and Ginny will not cross there, cannot cross if Luna does not allow it. This is sacred ground in the desert. Luna consecrates it with her own blood, behind a white bathroom door, on a white marble floor, against a white tub, and the red across the porcelain is holy, she thinks, as her face smashes against the sink time and again. She's found religion, and the power and the glory are hers. Just as long as she keeps on hurting, she will know she's still alive. Somehow.

~~*~~

The white of the sheets on their bed is almost blinding. The sun almost pressed against the pane of the window, begging to be let in, doesn't help much either. Her head hurts. Too many vodka straights, not enough ice. She has to stop this.

This is sleeping at dawn, and waking in the dark, and different bars every night and so many hands against her and in her, and she isn't sure if they are hers or other people's anymore. Ginny hates it. Ginny hates. Hates. Luna is drowning in all of it, and adding more liquid somehow seems to overflow it a bit without ever tipping the cup. Her entire meaning is balance now.


End file.
